Comments : Leave a Comment »
Categories : art, Collage, Culture, fantasy, photography, photos, surreal, Uncategorized
I don’t know why. Like many people of my generation I was buried in Beatles lore. When the Beatles broke up everyone felt they had to pick a camp. I picked Lennon. I’d always found McCartney’s songs a bit sappy. I thought that Paul was the song and dance man and that Lennon was the artist. Turns out I was wrong. They are both artists. You have to investigate McCartney. He has taken an interest in all kinds of artistic endeavours. They have not been greeted with wild enthusiasm. But then everything these guys did after the Beatles was judged by a different standard.
I love McCartney’s art. His paintings are really interesting. They have both an earnestness about them mixed with fun. He does not seem to have taken himself too seriously. But he does take his work seriously.
Comments : 2 Comments »
Tags: Beatles, John Lennon, Paul McCartney
Categories : art, Culture, galleries, paintings, the 60s, Uncategorized
I remember we all went to see this animation. And loved it. We went to see anything with the Beatles. And we were stoned. Yellow Submarine was not really a Beatles’ creation. I think they took some of the creature ideas from John and music from the group. I don’t know that any of the music was written specifically for the movie. But it had a huge affect on people. Animation for one thing was taken more seriously as an art. It popularized paisley. And it made ‘LSD’ seem like a harmless drug that could only lead to peace, love, and patterns. It was a terribly naive view of life. Although I would say that the ‘blue meanies’ still scare me today. Especially in their offices. In the bank.
Comments : Leave a Comment »
Tags: Beatles, Blue Meanies, John Lennon, Yellow Submarine
Categories : art, Culture, film, movies, surreal, Uncategorized, video
Album covers are held in great regard by many people. Most are just posters of their idol’s face. But there are many that are surreal in quality or are collages. The first collage I remember being affected by was Sargeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. And soon thereafter or about the same time. I cannot recall exactly was a Bob Dylan album. Bringing It All Back Home. Very few album covers are art. Of course those who idolize the singers cannot see this. Elvis had such nice teeth. Dylan nice hair. And the Rolling Stones… shoes. Here is a brief collection of some of my favourites. Covers. Actually I only like the two album covers I mentioned but that’s a bit boring. So let’s pretend. Look through your own collection. You’re going to find some pretty awful stuff.
here are some album covers cleverly animated
Comments : 2 Comments »
Tags: Beatles, Bob Dylan, Mothers of Invention, Queen
Categories : art, Culture, music, photos, Uncategorized
“In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan snuck into John Lennon’s hotel room in Toronto and convinced him to do an interview. 38 years later, Levitan, director Josh Raskin and illustrators James Braithwaite and Alex Kurina have collaborated to create an animated short film using the original interview recording as the soundtrack. A spellbinding vessel for Lennon’s boundless wit and timeless message, I Met the Walrus was nominated for the 2008 Academy Award for Animated Short and won the 2009 Emmy for ‘New Approaches’ (making it the first film to win an Emmy on behalf of the internet).”
Besides the interesting thoughts of Lennon is the wonderful illustrations that in many ways are parallel to Lennon’s own drawings.
Comments : 1 Comment »
Tags: Beatles, John Lennon
Categories : art, Collage, Culture, God, humor, movies, music, philosophy, surreal, the 70s, Uncategorized, video
Bicycle Thieves #5
Just returned from the dentist. 80$ consultation. Telling me what his secretary could have told me for nothing. Next Thursday they pull them out. When the tooth starts to ache I have to stop everything and wait for it to subside. Like waiting at a railroad crossing for the train to pass by. You just hope it’s not too long.
‘The That Daughter’ was written as a plea. Teenagers don’t understand the dangers they face in life. But they do know that there is a lot of fun out there. Adults are blinded by the dangers. One of those dangers is fun. The other is parents who won’t let their kids have any. Michael wouldn’t listen to us. He started having fun in elementary school. He’s not 26. Pretty conservative guy. Was wilder when he was 13. Katie was discreet. She and her friends had fun but kept it in balance. Whatever that means. Now we deal with Natasha. I can see it in her eyes. We are so boring to her.
THE THAT DAUGHTER
“My father is all business. I cannot stand it. Always it is money with him. At dinner he counts how much each item cost him. The cost of the potatoes. And the vegetables. And the meat. Especially since he got it from a local butcher. It is the best. Without paying an arm and a leg. Cannibalism comes to mind. Father has mother bill him for the meal. It’s like eating in a restaurant. Without the tip. And of course father compares our prices to those at the Canadiana Restaurant. Looking at the savings seems to help father’s digestion.”
“And father will not eat Indian food. He says that we must become more Canadian. He says that we smell like what we eat. And we must smell Canadian. But my mother cannot cook spaghetti. Or stuffed heart. The thought of eating a heart makes my mother faint. Or Irish stew. What is Irish stew anyway? I have an image of a bunch of tiny leprechauns boiling in a big pot.
“And father makes us listen to the Beatles. My mother tries. She sings along with the song, With a little help from my friends. But she cannot get it right. She doesn’t understand the song. Why is it friends? She asks. Why isn’t it, family? And father makes us watch ice hockey. Field hockey, I can understand. I made the school team but father would not come out and watch us play. We are Canadians, he said. F*** the field. Play on ice. Well, he didn’t say the ‘f’ word. But he wanted to. It’s Canadian. Mother gets very upset when she hears father curse. He said we had to learn to speak Canadian. They use the ‘f’ word in every other sentence. My mother tried to use it. One time she used it at the small Indian grocery store she likes to shop in. The manager got very upset with her and told her she would have to leave the shop. She told my father. He got angry with her. Why do you use that language around our people? he said. You want to ruin my business!”
“My father forces me to work for him. At slave wages. Under intolerable circumstances. Paul told me to call the Ministry of Labour. Paul works next door in the pharmacy. A sweet boy. He comes over to talk to me when father is not around. Father has taken to meeting some friends at the Canadian Restaurant. Mother does not know about it. I can smell the beer off him when he returns. Sometimes he drinks so much that he takes a nap on one of the sofas in the back of the store. When he leaves, Paul visits me. Paul asks me if father hits me. Of course, he does not. Father is pathetic, but he is not a monster.”
“Sometimes Paul and I fool around. Nothing serious. Kissing mostly. And feeling each other up. Outside our clothes. Never under. Paul says that he wants to see me naked. He has never seen naked brown skin. I don’t know how he dares to talk like that. But I like it. Sort of. I tell him that that is definitely not going to happen. The word ‘that’ has replaced using the word ‘sex’ between Paul and I. I don’t know what I would do if father walked in on us as we were fooling around. He’d probably be pissed that I wasn’t at the cash register. In case someone came in. Who buys couches in the middle of the day? In the middle of the week? When Paul asks me questions, he writes everything I say down in a book. I asked him what he was doing. He said he likes to record other people’s thoughts. But those were not my thoughts, I tell him. I have one thought. I want to have some fun.”
Comments : Leave a Comment »
Tags: Beatles, the f word
Categories : art, Culture, fiction, humour, life, Poetry, reading, Uncategorized, Writing